Fallout: Blade of Night
by Conquest115
Summary: A swordsman in training learns under his mentor in northern America, ten years after the disappearance of the Enclave.
1. Chapter 1

Fallout: Blade of Night

"In a world full of guns, you are quite the stick in the mud," the bandit said as he held his pistol up to the mercenary's head. The night sky darkened the camp, lit only by the campfires which they relied on to survive. "Before I kill you, take everything valuable on you, and hang your head up on my wall, I want you to tell me one thing." The bandit leader glared at the mercenary as he simply smiled and asked, "And what might that be?"

"How in the name of god, did you infiltrate my camp, completely unnoticed by the dozen guards I posted outside, kill half of my good men, and manage to make it all the way to my tent before you got caught? Without even using a gun?" The swordsman hardly even looked him in the eye. But when he did, he seemed to be analyzing him, making him feel small. He was slightly short, about 5 foot 10. Even with a gun to his head and no weapon, he still seemed intimidating.

"Well if you must know… There was a hole in the fence surrounding your camp. This gave me an easy entrance. However, I could have snuck past the guards even without it. You clearly gave them no rest, as you didn't have enough men to have multiple shifts. They were tired, unable to focus properly, and with that advantage, your first line of defense became nearly useless." The bandit leader was shocked. No normal man in the wasteland ever made those sorts of observations. But he wasn't done yet. "Your men inside the camp were all either asleep or wandering around. You had no organization, and many places were left open for me to sneak about. And any who saw my approach were easily taken care of," he said, gesturing toward his blood-stained sword, held by another bandit a couple feet away. "Unfortunately," the swordsman said, "I did get caught. My mentor isn't going to be pleased with me. But that's not important. What is important is that you are dead, and this camp wiped out."

"Well, sorry to say that that isn't going to happen," the bandit leader said as his grip on the trigger of his gun tightened. He thought about how much his sword would be worth, and what he would spend all those caps on. Maybe a couple nights of good dinner, or a woman for the night, or maybe-

The gun was no longer in his hand. The swordsman had his arm wrapped around his, and was in the perfect position to break it. _There's no way he could have moved that fast… _the bandit leader thought to himself as the swordsman began to put pressure on his arm. A loud snap and a massive shot of pain told him that the arm was broken. He fell to his knees and grasped his arm, the pain blinding and dizzying him. As the three other bandits began to pull out their guns, the swordsman quickly moved from the leader to the one carrying his sword. He used the same method he used on the leader to disarm the bandit, and caught the sword as it fell from his hand, immediately slashing at the next bandit, cutting into his neck midway through the drawing of his gun. The swordsman turned back and sliced through the bandit he had disarmed. The last one had drawn his gun, and fired off two shots of his pistol before the swordsman reached him and impaled him through the chest.

The lone swordsman set fire to the camp and left through the hole he found in the gate. He couldn't kill the rest of the bandit's as his only option was to flee from the approaching guards, who had heard the gunshots. There was barely enough time to light the tents, but he had caused enough damage to disorganize them. They would scatter, and they would find other bandit camps to go to.

As the swordsman approached the cliff where he was to go after the mission, his mentor looked at him with disappointment. "Many, many mistakes, Alex. Many of which could have gotten you killed." The swordsman looked down at the ground as his mentor scorned him. "You are still not ready. You will continue to train with me until you are."

"Master, please!" The swordsman begged, "I'm capable enough to be out there on my own!"

"You are not trained enough in the way of the blade. You will not survive out here on your own, especially with the method of combat you have chosen to follow. The blade is a powerful weapon, and you have not properly mastered it. Until you have, you are to stay here, in my home. Now come along." His master began to walk towards home, and the young swordsman begrudgingly followed.


	2. Chapter 2

Fallout: Blade of Night, Chapter 2

The night was a cold, windy, misery of a night. The lone wanderer didn't mind the cold too much. It was refreshing, a little uncomfortable at worst. No, the cold was a reminder to him that things could always be worse. A strong gust of wind might cause him to slow down a little on his seemingly endless journey, but every time he felt that chill, he remembered that it could be much, much worse. So many times, he could have been dead, and he would not have been able to experience the cold firsthand. He couldn't have learned to love the experience, to love every rare moment of happiness he could. The night was peaceful.

At least it would be, if the kid wouldn't shut up.

The baby cried, and cried, and cried, and every time a gust of wind blew, he would cry even harder. It made the experience of loving the cold much, much more difficult. The night seemed to go on for hours, the journey was rough, and the baby made the wanderer want to cry himself. But he kept going, for his destination was close. The boy… He was an accident. After a night of pleasures with a woman in the city, one that he didn't want to get involved in, but he was under the influence of alcohol, the prostitute found him a year later, and demanded that he took the child. The wanderer was no father; the lifestyle he lived wouldn't be one that could support a child. So he decided to go to an old friend to take care of him.

A light appeared on the snow-covered hill. This was it. The man inside this house would take good care of him. The wanderer would know; this man raised him as well. He felt bad, burdening him with this child so suddenly. But it was the only choice he had.

The wanderer slightly unwrapped the towel covering the baby, making him cry a bit more. He put a small note next to the child, and pulled out his knife. He put the end of the towel up to the door of the house, and jammed the knife into it. The baby hung there, crying as he swayed about in the wind. The wanderer looked at him one last time, knocked on the door, and then ran.

A middle aged man answered the door, giving an annoyed look as he saw no one there. Then he noticed the baby, hung up on the door, supported only by a knife impaled into his towel. He looked at the baby for a long time, staring into his curious, teary eyes. And just then, the baby stopped crying. The man noticed the note, and read it. He gave another annoyed look as he read…

"_Mistakes were made, and this child was not meant to be. I'm sorry for burdening you with him, but you were the only one I could turn to. Please, take good care of him. His name is Alex. Treat him like a father, as well as a mentor, just as you treated me._

_-The Wanderer_

The middle-aged man held the baby, rocking him as he began to cry again when the wind started blowing. From the pile of snow the wanderer was hiding behind, he saw the look of annoyance again. But he also saw something else. He saw the hint of a smile on the man's face.

The wanderer left, knowing that the child would be taken good care of.


	3. Chapter 3

Fallout: Blade of Night, Ch 3

The boy was quite a pain. Alex was rebellious, whiny, and clumsy. He could hardly do anything right, even when it came to simple tasks like sweeping and washing the dishes. He was often caught dozing off, playing in the snow, and breaking things. But no matter how many times he scorned him, his mentor, and adoptive father, Allan Helman, always held a fondness for the child. He was rebellious, sure, but he had an unbreakable spirit, one that no one could shatter. And while he didn't have many friends, he was a good judge of character, and knew who to trust, and who not to.

And through all of his faults, one thing shined though. And that was his dedication to his lessons. Whenever he was being told to do something, he often wasn't listening, but in class, he heard every word, paid attention during every demonstration, and worked harder than he did anywhere else. But that was probably because his lessons were different from others.

Down the hill that led up to Allan's home, was a small, isolated village, filled with people trying to uphold the normal life, one that could lead them to forget the war. They even built a schoolhouse for the many children in the village. They taught things like math, and history, and always gave the kids good life lessons. But Alex was different, and Allan saw that in him. He wasn't a scholar, he was a fighter. And in this world, where the monsters that were out there had no mercy and the people even less so, you needed to be able to fight to get anywhere. It was a hard truth to grasp, but Allan did, and he wanted to prepare Alex for the world ahead of him.

Alex tried going to the schoolhouse one day. He tried to be a "normal" boy. But the kids there were horrible to him, and they saw him as a freak. But that didn't break his confidence. He came right back to Allan's teachings, and kept learning to fight.

The kid was a natural, though unfortunately, not in the right areas. He was a clumsy fool with a gun, and could hardly even fire the gun without jumping at the shock, let alone hit a target. He found guns to be too complex and confusing for him. Even a small hand gun was too much. But when Alex first held a knife, which was meant to be his last resort, he said, "Give me a bigger one." Eventually, Allan gave him a machete, which he still said was too small, though he still tried. And once Allan taught him how to wield it, he was already getting the hang of it. Every swing had an impact to it; every slash hit its mark, and every thrust had great precision.

Eventually, Alex begged for a bigger blade, and that he wanted to fight with it instead of with a gun. Allan knew he had made up his mind, so he went out scavenging a couple miles away, and found a rusty antique sword. It was a long, straight blade, with a strong hilt and a pommel that looked like the paw of an animal. Allan brought it back, and Alex immediately went to work with it. Alex worked for an entire week, only coming down from his room for lessons and to eat. When he finally came down, Allan couldn't believe his eyes. The blade looked like it was brand new, with a shiny blade, a polished leather grip, and a sharpened edge. Alex knew how to take care of his weapon as well, it seemed.

Alex was nine when this happened. He was so young, yet so accomplished at the same time. However, this was also when Allan heard news from the south, in Washington DC. He had heard that a water purification system had been activated, at the cost of the life of a lone wanderer. The Enclave, a government group dedicated to stopping this, hadn't been heard from since. However, Alex had noticed his adoptive father had become devastated, despite the good news. He thought that maybe he and this lone wanderer were connected.

Allan had stopped giving him lessons. He only came out of his room to eat, and even that was rare to see. Alex, wanting to intervene, constantly tried to get his dad out of his room, without prevail. He was often seen in tears, and Alex was forced to take on the responsibility of the house.

Finally, one day, Alex caught him outside of the house. He was mopping, as usual. But this was the only chance he had. Alex grabbed a machete from the weapons cabinet, proceeding to walk outside and throw it to his father. Without even looking up at him, he caught it. Even with a saddened personality, he still had the reflexes of a cat. "What is it…Alex…" he broken man had said. Alex looked at his father, who didn't look back. He pulled out his blade. "Spar with me." His father didn't reply. He just stood there, with the machete lying in his hand. Alex didn't wait for a reply. He pulled out his sword from the sheathe strapped to his back. He rushed his father, sword raised to bring down on him. And just as he brought it down, his father brought the machete up to block him. Alex didn't wait for him to react. He raised it again, slamming it down onto the machete. His father looked up a bit. "Alex, please…" Alex didn't listen. He swung the blade at his chest, and his father quickly brought the blade down to meet his, this time, a little faster. Alex swung at his father's abdomen, and he kept bringing it back up and down repeatedly. His father's blocks became faster and faster, and Alex saw the spark in his eye. His father parried him, and swung with a burning passion. Alex was on the defensive now, blocking every powerful swing that his father gave him. But even at the age of ten now, he still wasn't a match for his mentor. He tripped Alex, and he fell to the ground. The next thing he saw was the tip of the machete pointed at his neck.

Allan started to come out of his room. Alex's lessons had begun once again, and this time, he was twice as alert. He knew that he had his father back. Allan began to cook again, he sparred with Alex daily, and he made his lessons twice as challenging. Over the next few years, Alex had become better and better with his blade, and he even managed to beat his father sometimes. And at the age of nineteen, Allan thought that he was truly ready to put his skills to the test.


	4. Fallout: Blade of Night, Ch 4

Fallout: Blade of Night, Ch 4

*Okay, quick note, I am TERRIBLY sorry I haven't posted anything in a while. I just got my new computer, and it's taken a couple weeks to get it set up. But I'm back, and I'll try to post more often. Also, if you want me to make a fanfiction on ANYTHING, tell me in a comment, and I'll try my best to make your dream come true. Anyway, enough talk, story time!*

Allan and Alex had been having to deal with the Bloods for some time now. The Bloods were a bandit group that often chose Alex's village to pay "protection fees". The only ones they needed protection from, however, was the Bloods. They doubled the fee when they weren't shown hospitality, or when they were refused anything they wanted. But this time was different.

The usual group that came wasn't here this time. The usual group was less demanding, and more tolerant to things going wrong. There usually weren't any problems with them, although they were still bleeding the village for its caps. This new group was different. They were much more heavily armed, they had a hardened look on their face, setting an even more vicious look with the sadistic grins on their faces. They were clearly going to be trouble.

The one who usually dealt with the Bloods, a woman named Veronica, approached them, putting on her best smile and welcoming attitude. "Hello, welcome! I suppose you are here for the fee?" The one in the front of the group spoke with a malicious smile. "Why yes, my good lady. And I assume you also know about the commodities we are to be given?" Veronica swallowed. "Yes, free food, drink and bedding for the night!"

"Yes, yes, it's good to see that we have a clear understanding of how things work around here…" The man in front looked around at the terrified civilians. He was a tall, Caucasian man, who, despite the cold, wore a torn up denim shirt, pants, and rubber boots. The sleeves of his shirt were ripped to expose his impressive muscles, which showed his scar-ridden skin. He was covered in them, head to toe. His gruff face had a long scar that went all the way down to his throat. His cold eyes were dark, and full of hatred.

"But you see…" the leader said, "Me and our leader have come up with a new addition to the tax…"

"N-new addition?" Veronica said with a terrified look, "Whatever could you mean by that?"

"You see, our association is going to have to last a long time if we are going to make an impact on this great country of ours! So me and our leader have been thinking about our future! The people who will be the next generation of the Bloods! So, in addition the normal tax we are given, we will require all of your children to come with us to train to be the new Bloods."

Veronica gave a horrified look. One of the onlooking boys tried to run, and one of the Bloods fired a shot into his arm, and the boy fell to the ground, no longer moving. "Resistance?" The leader said with a curious look, "I'm afraid that if any of your children resist, then I'll have to double the tax…" Veronica tuned back in. "No, please! We barely have enough as it is! And you can't take our children! That's out of the question!"

"You know it really is a shame…" The leader pulled out a revolver and shot Veronica point blank in the forehead.

It took all of Allan's strength to restrain Alex. He fought and struggled as much as he could, even more so when the man shot Veronica. "Alex, please!" Allan whispered into his ear, "Not yet! You will have your chance later, but right now, if you attack, you will only put the town in more danger!" This calmed him down. "I'll kill them all…" Alex said with tears forming in his eyes.

The bartender of the inn approached the group, as he was to be the next to speak with them. "Now, will there be any more resistance, or will I have to put a bullet in you, as well?"

"No sir…" the bartender said in a quiet, timid voice. "Good. My name is Damian, and I'll be your new tax collector. Now, by tomorrow, I want all of your children rounded up and ready to travel by tomorrow."

"But what about the girls?" The bartender asked quietly, "They aren't fighters…"

"Fighters? Oh no, we don't need the girls as fighters. We already have enough boys in this village for that. No, the girls will be raised as prostitutes. There are hardly any women in the Bloods, and me and my boys here have been dying for some attention." The bartender began to cry. Alex recalled that the bartender had a daughter of his own.

"Any more questions?" The leader asked, not even noting his crying. "No… sir…." the bartender sobbed. The leader and his men walked over to the inn, and the rest of the day was silent, save the rambling of the Bloods in the inn, and the cries of the children when they heard the news. Alex stood in front of his house, a cold look in his eyes.

"Alex," Allan called, "come here. There is something I have been wanting to show you." Alex followed his father to the basement, a room in the house that was hardly ever used. Allan walked over the cold stone floor, and began working with some pipes. "Dad, what is it that you have to show me?" Alex walked over to him. Suddenly, he heard a click, the power of electricity turning on, and the movement of the wall. The wall began to spin around, and on the other side was a massive arsenal. Guns, explosives, energy weapons, stimpacks, utility tools, all centered around a peculiar armor set. It was a simple, brown trench coat, but hidden in its leather was metal plates, looking like they haven't been touched in years. There were a few bullet holes in the trench coat, and a few dents in the plating. But nonetheless, it was a beautiful piece, and it looked like an effective one at that.

"This was my old gear…" Allan said with nostalgia, "The gear I used to fight wars and save the world… I remember how naive I was…"

"Why are you showing this to me dad?"

"Because you are going to wear this suit, use these tools, and and use the skills I have taught you to fight the Bloods. You are going to end this once and for all."

"Are you sure you want me to do this dad? I don't think I'm quite cut out for it yet…" His father put his hands on his son's shoulders. "You are more ready than I ever could have been when I was your age." Alex still had a doubtful look in his eye. "Remember Veronica, Alex. Remember the children, who are going to be tortured and abused if someone doesn't do something. Veronica didn't stand up to the Bloods for nothing. It's up to you to avenge her, and to end the suffering of the village that has given us so much."

Alex looked at the suit. He saw how many battles it must have fought in. He saw how many lives it must have saved, and how many it still can. Alex looked at his father with a fire in his eyes, one hotter than steel in a forge. "When do I begin?"


	5. Ch 5

Fallout: Blade of Night, Ch 5

The children were not used to this kind of travel. They were protected by the cold of night by the warm indoors, but this time, they were travelling in lighter clothing for this weather, and most of them were on the verge of passing out from exhaustion. All the children, from infants to ten year olds, were being taken to the Bloods' camp, which was miles away. Any talking was met with a pistol grip to the head, and any children who couldn't take it anymore and stopped were left to freeze. The Bloods were evaluating them, one by one, and seeing who was the most durable.

The cold was reaching almost sub zero temperatures, and most of the children were sleepless, as the loudness of the group at the inn and the terror of being taken away kept them up the previous night. The massive snow storm didn't do much to help either. But now, in the small hours of the morning, when the cold was most deadly, they were forced to make the toughest journey of their life. The group traveled at night for the sole purpose of this. The children who couldn't take it were left to die, and only the strong could survive.

The journey, miserable as it was, was going relatively well. Only three of the children had been abandoned, out of the approximately 150, and food and supplies were not an issue. The group smiled as they saw the camp was in sight. It was a compilation of tents surrounded by a wooden wall painted with the blood of those who defied them. At the center of the camp was the main tent, where the leader and second in command slept. Yes, the trip was going well.

Until they saw the man standing in their path.

At first, was was hardly visible. All the group saw was a slight disturbance in the cold, snowy winds. But as they got closer, the figure in the snow became more and more prominent. The group came to a halt when the leader of the group saw him. For the longest time, they just stood there, looking at the figure in the snow. The men raised their guns, but the leader signaled them to hold their fire. Their leader walked forward, a smile on his face. "What brings you to stand in our way, stranger?"

"What is your name…?" The stranger in the path asked. The leader of the group laughed, "Ha! Who doesn't know my name? It's Kyle, Kyle the Slayer, they call me! I kill anyone in my way, and I paint their blood on my body! You'd best stand aside, before you become my next victim."

"Adorable."

Kyle stuttered, "Wait, what?"

"This little act you have going on. It's quite nice to listen to. You know, when I came out into the wasteland, I thought that the stereotype that villains like you existed, giving themselves cute little titles, kidnapping children, and tying women to the train tracks, I thought they didn't exist. Oh but now that I've met you, I'm certain that I'm going to meet many more people like you. Let me tell you something, Kyle the Slayer… When was the last time you have been afraid? When was the last time your spine tingled at the sight of something unknown, something that could potentially endanger you… Has it been weeks? Months? Years even? You've been terrorizing this poor village for so long, it's hard to keep track."

"I'm not afraid of you…" Kyle said with a snarl in his voice, gesturing his men to raise their guns. "Then let me tell you something else, Kyle the Slayer…"the group heard the sound of a blade being unsheathed. "Fire!" The men shot in the direction of the figure. The wind was too strong to see or hear if they had hit him. Bullets flew through the air, covering the entirety of their front. Kyle smiled as he knew no one could have avoided that.

"You should be afraid…"

Kyle's smile faded as the voice that was right next his his ear was followed by a sharp pain in his lower stomach. A pain which only got worse and worse. A pain that coursed through his entire body. He looked down to see a blood stained steel blade punctured through his body. Behind him was a mere boy, not even twenty years old, standing behind him, holding the blade with an enraged look in his eye. "That one…" Alex said with a cold, low voice, "...was for Veronica." Alex pulled the blade from Kyle's stomach, and he fell to the ground, his blood pouring out onto the snow.

The other men were shocked. They didn't even see him in front of them until he stabbed Kyle. The men looked at his murderer with fear. Alex turned to them, with a look colder than the wind that surrounded them, and said, "You're next."

What followed was a bloodbath. Men were killed in Alex's rage, and no one was able to stop him. Alex moved like the wind, using the snow as a shroud to protect him. Even with their guns, none of the men were able to get a shot on him, not even once. They were all being picked off from the shadows, one by one. Suddenly, when they were all back to back, one of them would have their throat sliced. When they spread out to find him. They would blink, and the man in front of them would be lying in a pool of their own blood. Finally, when the last man was left, kneeling in the cold, begging for his life, a hand from the shadows grabbed his neck, and Alex looked him dead in the eye. "Go back to your little camp…" Alex said with an unforgiving tone, "...and tell your leader that we're not paying you anymore." Alex shoved the man into the snow, and began leading the terrified children back home.


	6. Ch 6

Fallout: Blade of Night, Ch 6

After each child was secured in their homes, Alex went back to the house to report to Allan. The mission was completely successful, and every child was taken home. Allan congratulated Alex, but something seemed to be wrong. There was a saddened look in his eye. He looked to the floor when he spoke, and he immediately went up to his room when he was done.

Allan knew what this was. He had felt it himself when he was Alex's age. The cold, empty feeling. The feeling that you will never escape you, the feeling that will haunt you for the rest of your life. The feeling that was common in the wasteland, and gave its people a disgusted look in their eye. That feeling was the feeling you have when you first take someone's life.

Alex had never killed a man before. It was something that he needed to do at one point, but the feeling was going to eat away at him until he learned to cope. Alex knew this long before the mission. He knew this when he first started to learn how to fight. He knew that one day the time would come that he would have to kill someone. But even still, the empty feeling came to him.

Allan knocked on his door, without getting a reply. He opened the door and walked in to see Alex sitting on his bed. He held his blade in his hands, which was still covered in blood. There was still an empty look in his eye. A cold, miserable, empty look in his eye. "It was bound to happen son," Allan said to him, "I know it hurts, believe me I do. But in this world, it's something you'll have to learn to do."

"I could have done something else… I could have talked to them, gave them money, anything but kill them… I was so angry, I didn't know what I was doing…"

"Alex, you know that's not true. It was the only way to solve the problem. But you also have to know that that isn't always the solution either. When you meet new enemies new foes, new threats, there is always the chance that they can be talked to. In this world, sometimes the only reason they do harm is because no one has given them a chance to talk. It's always shoot this, kill that…"

"But why couldn't I talk to them?" A tear began to roll down Alex's cheek, "Why did I have to hurt them, right in front of those poor children…"

"Because there are also people who won't listen to reason. The Bloods won't listen to anyone who speaks to them. They only follow their own selfish desires. Alex, you did the right thing. You stopped these people who were going to abuse and hurt these children, and you showed the Bloods that we aren't going to take this anymore. You avenged Veronica, and you gave these children the chance to live a normal life again. But now, we have to defend this town. The Bloods are going to retaliate, and it's our job to defend against them." Alex looked down at his blade again. He took a cloth from his bedside table and wiped the blood from his blade. The empty look in his eye was still there, but Allan knew he would learn to cope.

The next morning, Alex came downstairs, fully equipped. Allan was cooking breakfast, and Alex sat down at the table, looking at his blade once again.


	7. Ch 7

Fallout: Blade of Night, Ch 7

Alex knew that he was going to have to kill more people if he was to protect his village. The Bloods wouldn't take this sort of attack too kindly. Retaliation was guaranteed, and the people needed to be ready. Allan had spent the last couple days militarizing any man willing to fight, and surprisingly, many took up the task. At least half of the men in the village had volunteered to help attack the Bloods' camp.

The problem was getting them armed. There weren't nearly enough guns to arm the entirety of the people, and most of them had never even held a gun, let alone shot one. Allan had a group of unarmed and untrained civilians. Not the best army to go up against a large group of experienced and well equipped bandits.

A few of the citizens were trained and armed though. William and his son, David, were both military veterans of the Brotherhood of Steel who had come up north to escape the carnage. They were well equipped with assault rifles and battle armor, and knew how to use them efficiently. They would most likely be the army's greatest asset.

There was also Terry, a mechanic who could fix a machine faster than you could say "I think this is broken". She used to repair heavy machinery and vehicles, but now does repairs on collapsing buildings. She volunteered to help build fortifications to protect the army outside of the camp. She also had an old project that she was working on that she said would be done with by the time of the attack.

Guards were stationed outside the village twenty four seven. There were always lookouts searching for any signs of the Bloods. It had been five days after Alex's rescue mission, and still no sign of them. Allan knew they were preparing, so they had to be prepared as well. The volunteers were being trained to the best of their abilities with the makeshift weapons that they had, which mostly consisted of baseball bats, knives, and small arms. Terry spent most of her time in her home, working on her little project, and William and David spent most of their time training the civilians. Though William and Terry would often meet up for some reason, during the late hours of the night.

Allan and Alex spent much of their time developing a plan of action. With the troops that have little experience and only small arms, they knew that a frontal assault would be suicide. "The only thing we can do without guaranteed loss is a surprise attack," Allan examined, laying out a rough sketched map of the camp in relation to the town, "however, the camp is circular, and has guards posted all around."

"What about a distraction? We get the attention of the bandits from one side, beckoning the others to put their focus on the front while another force comes in through the back."

"That's good, but even if the force surprises them from the back, they still have guns, and we don't." Allan rubbed his temple and the two spent the entire night formulating a plan, until finally, in the small hours of the morning, they came up with the best possible plan they could with their resources.

Finally, when the final preparations were made, the entire force came out. 146 men in total, twenty six with guns, one hundred and twenty with other miscellaneous weapons. Terry showed up outside with a working truck, the back of which had a drape on it. William and David were briefing the army on the plan, and Alex and Allan stood at the front, waiting for the troops to mobilize.

Finally, the army understood the plan and were ready to move out. It was around midnights, and it would take the entire army approximately two hours to get into positions around the camp. When William approached Allan and informed him that the army was ready, Allan shouted for the men to get into positions and march. Alex knew this was going to be a huge battle, and it would dictate the fate of their town. Either they would win the day and never have to live under the tyranny of the Bloods, or 146 men would lay their lives for nothing. It was up to these brave men to protect the ones they love.


	8. Ch 8

Fallout: Blade of Night, Ch 8

"Why does it have to be so god damned cold out?" A bandit standing guard on top of the gate said to his friend. "Maybe it's because we're standing out here in the north, in the middle of a snow storm, and in the middle of the night?" his counterpart said. "Yeah, yeah, I know. But why were we the ones posted out here?"

"Because the usual guards are dead, you moron. Didn't you hear about how Kyle and his group got killed?"

"Yeah, I heard… I heard it was just some little kid who killed em'. Nah, I think it's bullshit. I think it's one of them Brotherhood of Steel outcasts."

"What about outcasts?"

"Do you have cotton in your ears or something? A part of the Brotherhood of Steel split off and travelled up here. People have been reporting sightings of them all over the area."

"Now that is horse shit. I've never heard that anywhere, and no one else has."

"I heard it from some guy in town. Old fella' with a dusty trench coat."

"Yeah, and old man on his most recent Hydra fix."

"Ah, come on, it's true!"

"I don't believe it." The two bandits stood there in silence for some time. The cold wind blocked their vision, and numbed their hands and feet. The snow only thickened, and the wind only blew stronger. And just as the two were beginning to end their shift, they heard an explosion on the other side of the wall.

The bandits heard shouts and screams, and the sound of part of the wall collapsing. At the other side of the camp, a large amount of people were throwing molotovs and grenades at the wall. Soon enough, the wall caught fire, and every bandit was up and out of their tents in no time as the fire started to spread.

Through the snow, the bandits at the front could see wooden barriers that the oncoming force was using for cover, along with the many rocks jutting out of the ground. The barriers must have been built before the initial attack, as no one was around building them. Bullets flew through the air, and a vast majority of the bandits in the camp got their guns and started firing in the general vicinity of the attackers.

William and David were stationed at the front lines, giving orders and making sure that everything went according to plan. One of the men approached the two. "William , we're running out of things to throw, the grenades are all used up, and we're running low on bottles to light!"

"It's okay!" William replied, "We've got their attention, and that's all that matters. Now just focus on surviving and using what we have to keep the bandits at bay!"

"Yes sir!" The man ran off to brief the rest of the troops. "Dad, do you think Alex and Allan are ready?"

"Check in with them and make sure. We have to do this when they'd least expect it. Tell them not to act until I give the word"

"Alright," David took out a communicator, "Allan, are we ready to go?"

"All set! Alex is ready to go in, and we have him hooked up."

"Good! Don't act until I give the word!"

"Rodger!" An explosion went off right in front of one of the barriers, and two of the men behind it were caught in the middle. One of them was tightly holding his arm, the other wasn't moving. "Dad, we've got wounded!"

"Send in the medics, we need to bring them out of the front lines!" David took out the communicator once again. "All medics, we have wounded! Report to the given coordinates and get them out!" David started listing coordinates, and William was waiting for the perfect moment to attack. "Terry, this had better work…" William said to himself.

About an hour had passed, and the carnage was still going. The attackers had casualties all over, but they were still holding strong. However, most of the army was running out of ammunition, and to go out there with melee weapons would be suicide. William signaled his son, "David, tell Allan to spring it!"

"Yes sir!" David took out the communicator, "Allan ,we're ready, let's go!"

On the other side of the camp, Allan and Alex were standing behind the truck, waiting to advance. Alex spoke up, "Dad, are you sure this thing is going to work?"

"This is no time to be asking questions, Alex. Now get in there, I just got the signal. You remember how everything works, correct?"

"Yeah, I've got it."

"Alright, good luck."

"Thanks dad," Alex said as he put his helmet on.

The bandits were starting to realize that they weren't shooting anymore. The army had run out of ammo, and the bandits knew it. The bandits were about to advance before an explosion occurred on the other side of the wall. A few screams as well as crashes and gunshots erupted from that area. A few bandits were sent to report while the others kept firing.

On the other side of the camp, a group of ten bandits were inspecting the area. What they saw were bodies, rubble, and a giant gaping hole in the wall. And standing inside that hole was a single man. But this man was different from the rest. He wore massive power armor, with wires, knobs and switches covering it. Electricity ran through huge coils throughout the suit. It was painted black and red, and it had a dark feel to it. Strapped to his back the man carried a massive sword, nearly as tall as him, and sparking with electrical discharges. On the front, a small box read: X-02 Mark III Power Armor.


End file.
